Here lies, whom hound did ne’er pursue, <br /> Nor swiftewd greyhound follow, <br />Whose foot ne’er tainted morning dew, <br /> Nor ear heard huntsman’s hallo’, <br /> <br />Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, <br /> Who, nurs’d with tender care, <br />And to domestic bounds confin’d, <br /> Was still a wild Jack-hare. <br /> <br />Though duly from my hand he took <br /> His pittance ev’ry night, <br />He did it with a jealous look, <br /> And, when he could, would bite. <br /> <br />His diet was of wheaten bread, <br /> And milk, and oats, and straw, <br />Thistles, or lettuces instead, <br /> With sand to scour his maw. <br /> <br />On twigs of hawthorn he regal’d, <br /> On pippins’ russet peel; <br />And, when his juicy salads fail’d, <br /> Slic’d carrot pleas’d him well. <br /> <br />A Turkey carpet was his lawn, <br /> Whereon he lov’d to bound, <br />To skip and gambol like a fawn, <br /> And swing his rump around. <br /> <br />His frisking wa at evening hours, <br /> For then he lost his fear; <br />But most before approaching show’rs, <br /> Or when a storm drew near. <br /> <br />Eight years and five round rolling moons <br /> He thus saw steal away, <br />Dozing out all his idle noons, <br /> And ev’ry night at play. <br /> <br />I kept him for his humour’s sake, <br /> For he would oft beguile <br />My heart of thoughts that made it ache, <br /> And force me to a smile. <br /> <br />But now, beneath this walnut-shade <br /> He finds his long, last home, <br />And waits inn snug concealment laid, <br /> ‘Till gentler puss shall come. <br /> <br />He, still more aged, feels the shocks <br /> From which no care can save, <br />And, partner once of Tiney’s box, <br /> Must soon partake his grave.<br /><br />William Cowper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/epitaph-on-a-hare/
